Assorted Fun!
by afatfreefood
Summary: So here’s my contribution to the iPod Shuffle challenge. I have at this point in time 15 stories based on what my iPod spewed out, dunno how many I’ll post, but here you go! R&R if you so choose. thanks!
1. Every Time We Say Goodbye

Every Time We Say Goodbye – Ella Fitzgerald

* * *

_  
_

_"Every time we say goodbye, I die a little_

_Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why, a little_

_Why the gods above me, who must be in the know_

_Think so little of me; they allow you to go."_

* * *

If you asked her, Helga wouldn't be able to explain _why_ exactly she took the job at Madame Chere's Boutique. It was everything she disliked all wrapped up in an over-perfumed little package; it was old-fashioned, refined, and perpetually filled with frilly things and old ladies. What's worse, old ladies who were _shopping_. Old ladies, in Helga's opinion, were THEE most demanding, needy customers on the planet. Ask anyone in the customer service industry, and they'd agree with that statement.

Another issue with the boutique was the ambient music tapes they made her play over and over and over. It was all _old_ stuff, to create some sort of _nostalgic_ feel to the shop, or make the old people feel more _comfortable _or something. At this point, every time she heard "Fly Me To The Moon", she got the urge to punch the nearest customer. It was that bad.

But heck, at least it was a bi-monthly paycheck. She had to get her finances somewhere. She couldn't get it at home. Big Bob was far too stingy to fork any cash along her way. So, some weekday afternoons and every Saturday afternoon, there she was. Folding, hanging, helping, and in all ways earning her way to those Wrestlemania tickets….

This Saturday, however, was notably dull. Well, they all were, but this one was EXCEPTIONALLY notably dull. The economic crisis seemed to be hitting everyone, Helga noted. Not even the retired were immune to its effects. No one had entered the shop all day during her shift. Which was even worse than usual, since it gave her nothing to distract herself from her hatred of her job.

Scowling and thinking of all the better things she could be wasting her time with on a Saturday afternoon, Helga walked around the shop, peering underneath gaudy clothing racks and asphyxiatingly over-perfumed dressing room doors. The store was in tip-top shape. Defeated in her search for something to occupy herself with, she looked longingly out the window from behind the cashier's counter.

Gasping, she saw Arnold's grandpa's Packard putter past. She sighed dreamily. Arnold…

If only, for some crazy reason, his wonderfully oblong football head decided to visit the shop…She'd be polite, charming, even friendly, and would help him find whatever it was he came in for…He'd realize what a delightful girl she was, and declare his undying love to her. Tragically, however, he would have to leave to deliver the item he'd purchased, but he'd promise his steadfast return, leaving her with a passionate kiss and fifty bucks in the tip jar…

Unnoticed by Helga, the ambient music began to creep into her daydream. It was "Every Time We Say Goodbye"…Helga actually could tolerate that one. Absently, she began to sway to the bittersweet song. It was almost funny how well Ella sound tracked her daydream, which had suddenly turned into a slow dance with Arnold ( which was, in reality, an undressed mannequin). She imagined a golden lit dance floor in a smoky lounge...she was in an elegantly stunning red gown; He, in a finely tailored suit, his unruly hair coiffed, he deep emerald eyes gazing longingly into her glimmering blue ones...

Helga was lost in the moment, the music, the dream. She sang with passion to her Mannequin-Arnold, and twirled around the shop. She was so absorbed in the moment, in fact, that she failed to notice the front door's bells jingle to announce the arrival of new customers…

"There's no _love_ song finer…but how _strange_ the change from major to minor…every time …we say… goodbye…" She finished to applause. She screamed in surprise and ducked behind the counter.

"Oh, Eleanor!" Helga's heart sank. She knew that voice. And she didn't know anybody else who called her "Eleanor"…all Helga could do now was pray Arnold wasn't with her…

"That was lovely, just lovely…" gushed Gertie. "Don't you agree, General?"

No. No, no no no....This couldn't be happening.

"Yeah. Wow, Helga…I didn't know you could sing." Said Arnold in surprise.

Helga had only two options now; fight, or flight. But if she left, she would get fired…And she certainly couldn't face Arnold now after that little mushfest.

So she did what came most naturally in situations like these.

And fainted.


	2. Psychotic Girl

Psychotic Girl – The Black Keys

(I really recommend looking this song up before reading this. It wont change the story for you, but it conveys the "sexed up" mood perfectly. I envision this to be the song Rhonda danced to. Okay, Read on, good reader! Pardon my interruptions!)

* * *

Curly walked into the club armed with a confident indifference and swagger he knew ladies couldn't resist. He evaluated the club of which he currently graced with his presence. I t was smoky, dimly lit, and had an ambiance that whispered in your ear, _sex._

It wasn't mainstream, this club. It was dirty. It was thrilling. It wasn't for the faint of heart. He smiled. He would fit in here just fine.

Curly meandered in, his long, dark Levi-clad legs taking slow but long strides. Then Curly saw her. And stopped. His casually beating heart seemed to have gone into overtime, then just quit on him and stop too.

He had no idea what a prissy little rich girl like_ her _would be doing at a bar like_ this_. Well, that wasn't true…he knew _what_ she was _physically_ doing here. She was dancing on top of a table with a pole in its center.

He couldn't blink. He couldn't move.

It was the single most arousing thing he had ever seen.

Evidently he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Every man, and several women, in the club watched her as if mesmerized, hypnotized.

Though Curly had no claim to her, (Hell, when had he even seen her last? Graduation?) he did not like sharing this view of a drunken, wild Rhonda with anybody else.

"Rhonda! Get down!" He called to her, walking to the table and offering his hand up to her. Many of the men began booing him.

"Curly? Curly!" She smiled as she crouched to get down. "I was _JUST_ thinking about you!" Her eyes, warm and bright, grew reminiscent. "You know, I had the BIGGEST crush on you as a kid. Can you_ believe_ that?"

Curly laughed and muttered "No, I can't." Rhonda's footing was bad, and she stumbled down into his arms.

"God, your sexy…" she whispered, finding herself inches from his face.

"You're crazy."

She laughed. "Yes! Absolutely_ psychotic_!" She giggled, and led him by the belt buckle out of the club and into the street.

She turned. She sized him up, and finally said, hands on hips, "You're coming to my place."

The chemistry between them was magnificent. He didn't want to argue, but…

"Rhonda, I can't do that. You're clearly…"

"Drunk?" she supplied. "Hardly." She walked the edge of the curb perfectly. No wobbling, no stumbling. A perfect line. "A priest couldn't have walked that line straighter."

Curly's mouth hung open. "Then what the hell was up with that dancing?"

She laughed a exhilarated, mischievous laugh. "I wanted to do something…wild. I thought that dancing would be the best solution. Then…you walked in." She slinked up to him. She ran her hands up his chest, into his hair, and kissed him passionately. Curly couldn't help but notice that she tasted like strawberry…not alcohol.

"Let me take you home, Curly. I've always regretted not having...something...with you. My childhood self would hate me if I miss my chance tonight." She smiled and looked up at him, wide-eyed. Curly didn't know how every girl knew to do this when they wanted something, because it always worked. It was adorable on every girl. And on Rhonda? It was really sexy, too. Not many girls could make that look sexy.

"Well...if it means _that_ much to you..." He said, acting as though he didn't want it. She saw right through it, smiled wide, and kissed him again.

Without breaking the kiss, Curly opened the newly arrived taxi's door, and pulled Rhonda inside.

He had to agree with her; she was _completely_ psychotic.

He smiled wickedly in his mind. Who could have made a better match for him?


	3. Stockholm Sydrome Muse

**Stockholm Syndrome- Muse**

"This is the last time I'll abandon you

And this is

the last time I'll forget you

I wish I could."

* * *

She had always liked the smell of gasoline. It left her lightheaded for hours, yet…it smelled so industrial, so strong. It was different. She could relate.

She enjoyed watching it saturate her old poem books. Her shrine. Her pink ribbon.

They looked so trivial, so pointless, in a heap inside the cement fire pit on the sandy shore of Pugit Sound. She upturned the carton of gasoline, then shrugged, and threw the carton itself in. The part of the shrine that was Styrofoam reacted with the gasoline, and chemically burned away with a faint_ hissss…_

She stared at the heap for a moment. Then she trailed a line of gunpowder on the wet sand and into the pit.

She spoke, staring into the eyes of the shrine. "This is the last time I'll forget you……"

The shrine stared blankly back.

Helga lit a match and dropped it on the line of powder. She turned from the pit, and walked along the edge of the shore and into the night. When she heard the flames erupt behind her, she tried not to look back.

But she did.

In the flames, she could still make out the football shaped head. She imagined she could still see the shrine's eyes watching at her.

"……..I wish I could."


	4. Violet Hill

Hey Everyone! So here's my contribution to the iPod Shuffle challenge. I have (at this point in time) 15 stories based on what my iPod spewed out, dunno how many I'll post, but heck, I had so much fun writing these I wouldn't be surprised if it ended up being more then fifteen! But first, you should know, I didn't write these songs, so I don't own them. And I certainly don't own Hey Arnold. How I wish I did!

Read and review if you feel like it :D

* * *

Violet Hill – Coldplay

He visited that rooftop often in his dreams. Lately, he visited it nightly. His mind replayed her confession over and over. And over. And over. It was enough to drive any boy crazy. In fact, he believed it had. For the previous night, he dreamed that it was HE who confessed a deep, secret, undying love.

He began having these dreams since a week before December began. He blamed it on his daytime escapades, which seemed to always appear in his dreams. He wandered into the city each day, like a lost dog, purposeless. He was lost in his own mind, lost in his analysis, his thoughts, of Helga G. Pataki. He had to know more. He had to know, also, if she really meant that "heat of the moment" stuff.

In his absent minded wanderings, he often found himself in front of the old, unused FTI building. It was no different, this time, he was there. It looked so cold, so empty. Seeing it in this desolate state cheered him up greatly, and a reckless thought floated to the surface of his mind…

_Go to the roof. For old time's sake.._

Like a sleepwalker, obeying his subconscious, he allowed the voice in his mind to lead him to the roof. He was back to the scene of that night, of his dreams…

But he wasn't alone.

At the sight of her pink ribbon, he blanched. Startled, she hopped to her feet. "Arnold!? What-"

"Helga," he said, cutting her off , "I have to know…"

He inhaled.

"Do you love me?"

Snow began drifting down. She turned and looked to the lights of the city.

He added hastily the words that had been fighting to escape his lips for weeks. "I love you, Helga. I _love _you."

She said nothing.

He became frantic. "Please, say something, Helga, please!"

He grabbed her hand. "Anything…"

She turned to face him. Arnold couldn't believe his eyes…it was as if she was losing color…or subsistence.

"If you love me…" Helga began. Arnold was now panicking. He didn't know how, or why, but Helga was fading. Fast. Like some sort of ghost. Like an image from a photo projector who's light bulb was dying. She flickered between being there and being nothingness. Within his hand, he could barely feel her. She was as substantial as warm air.

"…Why'd you let me…"

She was gone.

"…go?" a disembodied voice spoke, resonating into the emptiness, expanding across the sky, diluting within the molecules of carbon dioxide and of oxygen, bending in the wind, and was gone too.

"Helga?" His voice cracked.

Arnold turned over his hand and opened it. Nothing remained of the girl he loved.

"No…NO!"

Arnold awoke to find himself sitting up in bed, crying out into the darkness, with an empty hand stretched out in front of him. These dreams were getting worse and worse. His head throbbed, his frantic pulse hammered out her name. HELGA. HELGA. HELGA.

Arnold whispered to her , knowing she wouldn't hear, wishing she could.

"If you love me, wont you let me know?"

* * *

My oh my.

Don't worry. Most wont be like this. I like lighter things than creepy nightmares. Read on, good reader, read on!


	5. Accidentally In Love

Accidentally In Love- Counting Crows

_"I didn't mean to do it_

_but there's no escaping your love_"

_

* * *

  
_

"What's the problem, baby?" Lila gazed up at him, with her head on his shoulder. She'd been trying to be just ever-so affectionate with him lately, but he just hadn't been responding the way she wanted.

Arnold pondered the question with a sigh. "I dunno…well, maybe…" He stopped speaking at this point, and merely shrugged. But his mind continued the thought.

…_I'm in love._

"Well, I hope whatever it is, I hope you hurry up and snap out of it just as quickly as you can. I find it ever-so disheartening when you're all mopey with me, darling." She said, her voice saccharinely sweet, yet blatantly threatening. " My other boyfriends were never this depressing around me." She looked at him peripherally, to see if she was successful in manipulating him into fawning over her.

This was everything wrong with Lila, he thought. She was always looking for ways to get him to dote on her. She needed to be complimented and praised or she grew annoyed. And she was soo concerned with being sophisticated and refined. She wouldn't ever just…hang out with him. It always had to be going to a play, or a nice restaurant, or an art show. Those things were nice sometimes…but what he needed was a girl who wanted more than just going on dates. He needed a girl who could be around him without make up and not be crazy self-conscious. One who didn't mind- no, actually LIKED- going to baseball games at the stadium. Someone strong, someone passionate, someone like…

"Arnold, did you hear me?" She said, hands on hips, jerking him out of his thoughts.

Arnold looked over at her. But he didn't see Lila. Her red hair was gone; in it's place , shiny, bright blonde. Where Lila held a pleasant yet fake smile, Arnold saw a scowl slipping into a shy smile. In place of Lila's warm, brown eyes, he saw sad, deep blue.

Helga. She had gone from being his tormentor, to being his friend, to being the focus of his dreams at night, to his highlight during the day, to…this.

Arnold shook his head. He shouldn't look at his girlfriend and envision another girl. That wasn't right. Lila deserved better.

So he finally, for the first time in several days, looked Lila in the eyes to have a meaningful conversation.

"Lila, we need to talk."


	6. Jane Says

A slightly abstract, "fall from grace" type piece. The more abstract parts are when she's, as they say, trippin' out. I know its kind of different. Its probably a mess, I took breaks to watch The Office and 30 Rock in between segments, so…bear with me .

* * *

Jane Says by Jane's Addiction

"I want them if they want me"

* * *

The bitter wind lashed at her face, stung her eyes. The cold had hardened all liquids. The wetness of her eyes froze over, catching her eyelids each time she blinked. The puddles on the street and in puddles the sky. It was too late to freeze her veins, which had solidified months, even years, before. They had turned to permafrost. They were swollen, and the frigid blood scraping through them tore their thin walls, leaving bruises in her skin. She didn't notice. She didn't notice much these days. There wasn't much to notice these days.

She inhaled with an effort that shook her body, she exhaled and imagined her body deflate and fall to the ground like a heap of dirty clothes. Wet, frozen denim tossed on the street corner. Oh, how worn she felt.

She clutched her coat around her body. It was threadbare and moth eaten. It seemed to clutch the cold tighter to her body, offering no escape. Her skin felt so tender in the winter air. The skin of the inside of her elbows, purple and yellow and green, with the healing pools of blood beneath her skin and the fresh, growing ones, felt sore and inflamed. It hurt to put her arms around her own body to deter the cold. She didn't mind. Embracing herself would only make her feel lonely.

She had never had it this bad. Never this bad. She felt so good just hours before. She felt so good.

_Where was he?_

She couldn't see beyond what the streetlight illuminated. The world consisted of her alone, on a gray curb in the center of a 8 foot wide circle of orange light on the ground. Then there was only the ever present impenetrable darkness beyond the light. She imagined herself surrounded by death, solid black death. She didn't know. She doesn't know then. She's so close to walking out of the light into the solid black. Into death.

And the streetlight flickered often.

Her breath, fighting from her lungs into her bleeding throat, escaped from her mouth like an orange-lit ghost and expanded into nothing.

_Where was he?_

Her leg was inspired by the breath that broke free. It began to kick of its own accord. Tiny kicks. They were small, the two of them.

Her lungs loved the breath that left them. They constricted, they shuddered. Her coughing wouldn't stop. Her lungs were climbing up her throat. She swallowed them down. She gasped for breath, ignoring the pain.

"You don't sound so good."

He sat outside of her light circle. She could hear his voice ahead of her, in the pavement that would have existed, if had anything existed beyond the light.

Without raising her lowered head, she flicked her irises up at his general area in the pitch black. Her voice was raspy but soft. "I'm fine. Really. I've got a cold."

"You can't fool me. I've seen that cough a thousand times." His clothing rustled, probably in a shrug. "Maybe selling you more is irresponsible on my part." He stopped speaking for a moment.

"…..But then again, if I cared about that I wouldn't have taken this job in the first place."

She flicked her eyes in his direction. "You won't have to worry about me anyways. You won't be seeing me anymore."

He stepped into the light. "What do you mean?"

She flicked her eyes back at him for a split second. "I'm gonna kick tomorrow."

He laughed cruelly. "Yeah, that's a good one. You'll last about an hour then you'll be pleading with me for twice the normal order." Her frozen eyes seemed to thaw momentarily. Warm water slipped from her eyelid down her cheek, questioned itself and stopped in its place, where the cold pinned it against her skin. She broke the icicle off, looked at it, and set it on the curb.

His laughs subsided. "So, really, what's the order? I don't have all night."

"It _IS_ my last time coming to you. I'm _gonna_ kick tomorrow"

He scoffed.

She continued. "I can't live like this anymore. I'm going away to Spain. I'll get my money saved." She stood up, nodding. "I'm gonna start tomorrow."

"Oh god. You are pathetic." He shot at her. "Let me guess; you were dumped. That what it is, isn't it? You loved some sap and he broke your heart, so now you wanna leave the states. Have a better life because the stuff you're using just ain't working?"

Tears broke the barrier of frozen liquid that glazed her eyes. "No, that's not what happened. I'm leaving because I hate my life. I wasn't in love with anyone. I ain't never been in love. I don't know what 'love' is."

"Liar. What about Sergio? He dumped you, didn't he? That's what it is. I know you wanted him."

"I only want them if they want me."

He stooped in front of her face, his own breath escaping jaggedly, life knives down a drain. "Don't bullshit me. Honestly, I don't want to talk to you anymore tonight. Give me the money. I'll give you what you want."

She handed him several bills.

He handed her a syringe.

He looked down at her, a wicked grin playing on his ashen, pockmarked face. "You won't last till the afternoon."

She glared, but said quietly. "Yes I will."

He scoffed. "Okay." He walked out of the circle, adding a cruel "See you tomorrow" over his shoulder.

She stared at the needle in her hands. She screamed into the darkness after several minutes. Her throat ripped inside her, and she was sobbing. She threw the syringe with all the strength she had into a dumpster she couldn't see, but knew was there in the alley behind her. She ran into the black to her small, filthy, empty apartment. She went straight to bed, not even removing her shoes. It was 12:34 am.

At 1:17 am, her legs were kicking. She vomited. She hurt all over. Her body hated her as much as her mind did.

At 1:46 am, she trembled in her bed, her skin erupting in goose bumps from the fluctuating cold around her. The vomiting hadn't stopped. The kicking hadn't stopped. All she wanted was to shoot up. But no. She couldn't. She had none. And if she did, she wouldn't use it. She needed to break free. She couldn't do this anymore, she would die. She would.

2 am. Her apartment was empty.

2:03 am. She was digging blindly through a dumpster. She needed it. She needed it.

2:07 am. She held it in her hands. Actually, two syringes. She wasn't sure which was hers. She would use both. She needed it. She needed it.

2:23 am, she was reeling on the floor. Her arms were bleeding at the inner elbow, her mind somewhere else, the heroin steering her through the night. She was so happy. She felt so good. She rolled over the syringes on the floor. They were empty.

* * *

The young man drove to the scene he'd been called to. A truely awful story, it really was a shame. She was apparently 26, like he. It was a frightening thought.

He reached the dirty apartment building, several police cars parked outside. He joined them, entered the building, and went to the third floor. The hallway had a distinctive sour smell to it, exaggerated in the florescent lighting and windowless corridor. It also had the faint, unmistakable scent of death, which became more intense as one approached room 316. He did.

He opened the door. The poisonous presence of death rushed into his nostrils, suffocating him. He backed out of the room into the stale air of the hallway. The door opened behind him, and a man in a police uniform handed him a gasmask. The smell was terrible back in the room, despite the three grimy windows being wide open.

The man was briefed on the situation at hand. It was his job to find any contact information he could, call the family, and perform his duties as a grief counselor. His heart was heavy. The woman had been a heavy drug user. He felt badly for her. She wasn't close with anyone it seemed. She'd been dead days before the smell made the landlord check in on her.

He looked around the little apartment. There were no pictures on the walls. There was a single old couch in the living room and nothing else. The only drawers were in the kitchen. He wasn't sure where to start. He asked if they had found a cell phone on her person. They had.

He opened it. The clock did not read the time in their city, but rather the time in Barcelona. He located the contact list.

He dropped the phone in shock. It broke to pieces on the floor, metal bits skidding across the ground like tiny bullets.

He rushed into the room where the body lay, surrounded by several investigators.

"Move! "He shouted. "I need to know who the girl is! I need to see her!"

A police officer stepped in the way. "Arnold, you don't want to see her. Believe me."

Arnold pushed him aside and rushed forward. _Who could it be? Who could it be? Oh, god, who?_

His eyes found her slightly rotting face.

She was ugly in death.

Arnold stared at her body in shock. A police officer handed him a picture."Found this in her purse. She doesn't look much different now, huh?"

She was so thin in the picture. Her eyes sunken in nearly as much as they were now she was dead. Her skin was ashen, her hair lack luster, her smile a thin veil, and her beauty a shadow.

Arnold couldn't fight the tears in his eyes. He hadn't seen her in years, true, but _this_? He had never expected this. He didn't know why she had become this way. He didn't want to know. He wouldn't be able to handle it. Last time they talked was their high school five year graduation. She looked nothing like this then. She had a steady boyfriend, a decent job. What happened?

"Oh, Lila…"

He bent down and whispered through his mask. "I'm so sorry."

But he knew Lila couldn't hear.

Lila had stopped listening the moment she left that streetlamp's light. She left the light. She'd stepped in to the swallowing black. She stepped off of the face of the earth into a place of solid darkness, where no "I'm sorry" could penetrate.

* * *

If you don't know Jane Says, you really should listen to it. It isn't nearly as dark as this. It is about addiction, but it's much more hopeful. I don't know why I was so dark here…I mean, yikes.


End file.
